Bow Chicka Bow Wow
by CabooseHeart
Summary: A collection of slash/oddball stories involving the Blood Gulch Crew to the Freelancers all the way to Chorus! I take requests, so don't be afraid to ask for anything! Stories will mainly feature Wash probably, but others too!
1. Secretive (Infatilism Mentioned)

**Bow Chicka Bow Wow**

**Chapter 1: Secretive**

**Warning(s): Slightly Referenced Infantilism, Non-Consensual Moments, Diapering of an Adult, Urinating, Shitting, Very Mild Sexual Content, etc.**

**Description: In Project Freelancer, things just go wrong at times; in Washington's case, a knife hit in the worst spots in his lower abdomen, taking away his ability to hold himself in any way urination/shitting-wise. As it turns out, he tries to hide it from the Reds and Blues once he reaches them, but after the Meta is killed, only Doc knows. But after Doc disappears, the Reds and Blues step in, hoping to find a way to help their recruited Freelancer.**

**A/N: So, here's the beginning of a series that I've been dying to try out; this collection will feature alot of M rated stories I've wanted to try my hand at, and yes, a bit of it will be quite vulgar and even a bit of non-con at times, but I'll have warnings up for each chapter. Each chapter is a different story, or a sequel to one; I'll be taking requests, though the pairings are wild and unlimited right now; this is made for experimenting and trying whacky stuff that I'd never do on AO3 (My sisters see that one, which is why I'm putting it here). I already feel dirty for writing this, and I've only written the description and warnings so far! Also, please note, that this is a side-account to Supercasey, so that I can insure my family won't see this stuff!**

* * *

><p>Secretive.<p>

Wash was always a secretive person; whether it was changing in the bathroom stalls of the boy's locker room in high school to hide his thin body, or going out of his way to hide an infection on the MOI, he kept everything to himself. It had never really been a weakness as much as it was a hassle, but that wasn't exactly on his mind as he fought the Insurrectionists in hand-to-hand combat. The agent was nervous as all Hell, swishing and dodging more than fighting really; he knew he was bad at hand-to-hand combat, he was the worst of his squad, and he was really not enjoying his little 'dance' with a certain Insurrectionist who had a thing for knives.

The grey and yellow soldier flipped backwards, barely dodging a knife slash aimed for his throat; the man was quick to try and out maneuver the young woman he was fighting, but she was stronger and faster than she looked. Sweat dripped down his back with each sidestep he made, with every movement really, and the pain was finally catching up to Washington; a nasty gash in his leg reminded him of how much blood he was already losing thanks to the woman he fought against. With a gulp, he jumped back, turning on the com-frequency he had with his fellow Freelancers. Washington switched it to voice-text, barely missing a throwing star; what was this lady, a ninja!?

"Come in, can anyone read me? This is Agent Washington, I need evac as soon as possible; I'm pinned down over here!" Washington explained, almost managing to land a punch on the Insurrectionist. "Dammit, can anyone read me?"

All Wash got was static; as if on cue, the Insurrectionist pinned him on the ground, no doubt grinning at him from behind her helmet. "Say goodnight, kid." She growled, jamming her knife in and out of his lower abdominal.

He screamed on instinct, yelping even louder when the woman was gone, now replaced by a very panicked Carolina, who was trying to stop the bleeding. "Goddammit... York, Wash is down, I repeat, Wash is down!" She screamed over the intercom, hands still pushing on the opened gashes. "Hold on, Wash; just hang in there."

Washington nodded, making everything around him seem to spin; the man groaned, attempting to roll over, but Carolina would have none of it. "Don't you close your eyes on me, Wash! 479er, this is Agent Carolina; do you read me, over?"

Just as the Pelican arrived, Washington blacked out, his last memory being Agent Maine carrying him bridal style into the back of the ship, locking him into one of the backseats.

* * *

><p>It really started alot later; by alot later, we of course mean when Doc was captured by Washington and the Meta. Right away, Doc knew something was up; it was an unspoken tension in the air, the calm before an impending storm, an unease that echoed through the canyon. This had only increased after Simmons took off, and more or less left Doc for dead, impaled into a stone wall on top of Blue Base. Doc watched from afar, seeing how Wash flinched with every touch the Meta set on him; he also saw Wash run off with the Meta alot, but every time they returned about ten to thirteen minutes later, Wash would be just a tad more relaxed. At first, Doc thought they were an item, but that quickly changed.<p>

It started with a bad smell, and Doc knew it wasn't him for sure; he had been allowed to go a few minutes prior (You don't wanna know how). He looked around, sniffing the air, wrinkling his nose at the scent of piss and shit. "Woo-we, what's that smell?" He asked, coughing loudly in his helmet.

Washington openly tensed, looking at his feet at once. "Uh... dunno, I don't smell anything."

"Are you nuts? It smells like Junior!" Doc explained; he would've thrown his hands up as he spoke for extra enthusiasm, but he was, you know, stuck in a fucking wall. "Are you sure you can't smell anything?"

Wash only got more nervous, shifting awkwardly. "I... well, ya know, I don't have a great sense of smell." He lied, hoping the excuse would work. "But, I'm sure it's really nothing, just... ignore it."

"Alright, I'll try, but it'll be hard." Doc stated, sighing internally.

That broke a nerve.

"I'm sorry, alright!?" Wash suddenly shouted, facing Doc, dropping his gun and kicking it away from himself in fear. "I'm so sorry, I-I... I'm sorry..."

"Wash, are you-" Doc was cut off as the Meta overheard, jumping onto the roof of the base, facing Washington carefully, placing both of his hands on either of Wash's shoulders, keeping him steady. "Meta, is he gonna be okay?"

The Meta didn't even look at Doc, too busy guiding Wash off of the roof, and back into the base. "Hey, aren't you gonna tell me what's up?" Doc yelled, but was ignored. He sighed, almost going limp on the wall. "Well that was weird... hey, that smell's finally gone! ...wait a minute..."

* * *

><p>Days passed, and Washington recovered as well as he could; the surgery to completely fix the damage done could easily kill him, so, on the Director's orders, he was forced to deal with, as he put it, 'The consequences of your actions'. Well, those consequences were far worse than Wash had expected; at first, when he had ended up pissing himself during training, he laughed it off and figured he had drank too much water that day. However, the fourth or fifth time finally forced Wash to realize that it was, indeed, not just another 'accident'. He kept to himself for a long time, avoiding the other Freelancers as much as possible, hoping no one would notice his sudden disappearances.<p>

But that was about to change.

A knock to Wash's bedroom door made him jolt, but he didn't answer, too busy sitting on the toilet to go see who it was; he had come to sitting on the toilet for hours after training, keeping himself busy with his phone or computer; it was a hard life, but he figured it was better than pissing himself (Or shitting himself) around the others. They'd call him a freak, a nutcase; they'd never talk to him or see him as a regular human being ever again. The door eventually opened, and Wash almost yelled for the person to leave, but multiple pairs of footsteps made him halt, swallowing in fear; it wasn't just one of his friends, there were at least three to four of them in his room, looking for him.

"Wash, you in here? We're here for an intervention!" York yelled, looking around the messy bedroom, unable to find the other Freelancer. "Come on, it's just me, 'Lina, North, Maine, 'n Connie!"

"It's C.T." Connie corrected, crossing her arms as she looked around, hazel eyes full of concern. "Where the fuck is Wash? I thought Wyoming said he'd be in here after training."

Carolina nodded, looking to the closed bathroom door with suspicion. "Wash? You in there? Come on out, we're not here to judge you or make fun of you; whatever is going on has been keeping you from hanging out with your friends."

"You sure he's home?" North inquired.

Maine rumbled an almost audible 'yes' as a reply, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Uh... just get outta here, I'll be out in a bit!" Washington finally called out, hoping the others would just leave before anyone found out about his secret. "Just... just a bit constipated."

"You're lying." Connie claimed, joining Maine in front of the door. "I hate to break it to ya, but you've been anything but constipated, Wash. Remember last Friday, or even Thursday? Just come out, we're here to help you!"

"I don't need help." Washington replied, cringing at the weakness that resided in his voice. "Look, I'll be out soon, just-"

Maine had, apparently, decided that this was getting nowhere, and opened and shut the door after entering at light speed. The other Freelancer stopped dead in his tracks, giving Wash a quick once over; Wash had deep bags under his eyes, his skin was a sickly pale, and he looked almost like a dying old man while sitting on the toilet. Washington stared at Maine, eyes impossibly wide as he scanned his face for even the smallest bit of what he feared; hatred, anger, distaste, disappointment... Wash had expected the worse. He yelped suddenly though as Maine strode forward, crouching in front of the much shorter and younger Freelancer; he was ready to just listen to him and talk about it.

There was a soft growl, more or less saying 'get explaining', or something of that nature.

"Well... it's not my fault, I don't think so at least... I keep losing control of myself, and not breakdowns or anything, just... I keep wetting myself, even on missions it's happened, and I can't stop it. I even shitted myself last night! I'm not sure what's going on or what to do but... just please, if you're gonna punch me or tell me to go kill myself, do it now." Washington braced himself, ready for a hit or a slap or a punch of any sort; he seemed like a kid, scared to be hurt by an upset parent or guardian.

There wasn't a reply for a long time; Maine eventually nodded, letting out a soft, comforting purr to tell Wash that it was fine. Washington smiled, almost sobbing as he collapsed into Maine's arms, letting the older Freelancer hold him close.

Meanwhile; North, Carolina, Connie, and York had heard everything. They all exchanged looks, unknowing of how to react or what to even do for their friend.

"What do we do?" Connie asked, leaning on the wall as she stared at her bare feet. "I mean, I was ready to hear he was really sick or that he missed his grandmother, not... not this."

"I don't think anyone was, Connie." York agreed, taking a seat on Washington's bed, running his fingers through his messy hair. "I mean... should we tell the Director or anything like that?"

North shook his head, frowning at the bathroom with pity. "No; if more people find out, it'll only make Wash feel worse about it. The last thing he needs is attention drawn to his little... problem."

"Well, we need to do something." Carolina said, glaring at the floor as she took a seat next to York, arms crossed and shoulders stiff. "We're his friends, and we know he'd help us if we were in his situation."

York suddenly stopped, looking up as he snapped his fingers. "I've got it!" He announced, standing up as he snagged his laptop out of his messenger bag, turning it on and looking something up.

Carolina leaned over, furrowing her brow at what was on the screen. "Adult diapers?"

Connie would've spat out her drink had she been drinking anything. "Are you serious, York?"

"What else can we do?" North asked, tapping his feet as he sat on the other side of York, gazing at the computer.

Connie sighed, standing on the other side of the bed in order to see the computer screen. "Well, we all know he won't go for it, even if we try to explain everything to him." She noted, frowning at York's laptop. "Besides, is this even necessary? What if it's just stress wetting?"

"Stress wetting doesn't make people shit themselves, last time I checked." Carolina explained, sighing sadly. "But I agree; Wash isn't gonna cooperate if we just ask him to, he'll say he's fine like he always does."

York was quiet, halting his internet search to sigh deeply, almost as if he didn't want to speak, but needed to. "As much as I hate to admit it, we need to talk to the Director about this one."

"How will that help?" North questioned, crossing his arms at the shorter man.

"The Director can make Wash listen, since it's obvious he won't listen to us about it." York explained, finally finishing up on the computer and shutting it down. "Done; stuff'll be here by tomorrow morning."

Carolina stared at York, dumbfounded. "... How can you order shit online when we're in space?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

York rolled his only good eye, grinning at Carolina. "Oh come on, 'Lina. We're docking on a planet in four hours, it's not as hard as you'd think."

North nodded, looking to the bathroom with worry filled eyes. "God... I just hope Wash listens."

"When has he?" Connie asked, sighing as she re-crossed her arms. "This won't end well."

"You know, nothing ever does." York pointed out, to which everyone nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p>A month and a half later, Agent Washington was seated beside Doc in one of the two Warthogs leading the Reds and Blues home to Blood Gulch; the ride was horribly tense, no one daring to say a damned thing. Grif was driving; he was actually going pretty slow, if only to keep anyone from freaking out. Simmons rode shotgun; he twiddled his thumbs and tried not to look back at the man who shot Donut in cold blood. Sarge tried to start up a conversation a few times, but was met by several shushes and mild glares. Doc sat loyally beside Wash, occasionally whispering things into his ear; everyone was without their helmets, making it almost feel... surreal, if only a bit.<p>

The biggest thing that threw the Reds and Blues off was Wash, who looked far younger than they had expected; he had short, blonde hair, along with stormy grey/blue eyes that challenged Sarge's own icy blue pair. But no one spoke a word, except maybe the Blues; the Blue's car was driving at a slow pace behind the Red's vehicle, with Tucker driving while Caboose slept in the backseat; the only reason Wash and Doc were riding with the Reds was to avoid waking the youngest Blue Team member, who had been unusually quiet after Church, er, _Epsilon_ left into the memory unit. Suddenly, Washington grimaced, looking to Doc with worried eyes, looking close to tears.

Doc nodded, turning to Grif. "Hey, Grif, can we stop for a second?"

"Seriously, dude? If you didn't notice, we're trying to _avoid_ getting caught by Command and getting back to Blood Gulch in one fucking piece." Grif replied, but made a gagging sound as a terrible smell entered the air. "Shit, man! What the fuck, did someone seriously shit themselves in the car!?" He stood up after parking the car, looking at the Blue's vehicle with suspicion. "Dude, did Caboose go again?" He asked, having to yell to be heard over the thunder storm a few miles away.

"Dude, he went, like, two hours ago!" Tucker yelled, hoping Caboose wouldn't hear him. "What's wrong? Did someone shit themselves?"

"We don't know yet!" Simmons screamed; no one but Sarge and Doc noticed Washington flinch, attempting to curl in on himself from hearing how upset the Reds and Blues were. "Check him to be sure, we'll see if an animal left us a 'gift' somewhere in the car!"

Tucker gave them a thumbs up, easily waking Caboose and leading him away from the road, into the forest. "We're gonna go while you guys check the car." Doc said, taking Washington's hand and leading him away from the Warthog.

Sarge, however, saw past the lie in an instant. He didn't say a word though, waiting for Doc and Wash to disappear before he stood, motioning for Grif and Simmons to follow him into the woods, careful to not alarm Washington or Doc. Once hidden, they watched as Doc had Wash lay down in a tiny clearing; Wash was tense, laying down on a towel while removing his armor, the stench getting worse. "Dude, did Wash cr-" Grif was cut off as Simmons slapped a hand over his mouth, shushing him.

"Shut the fuck up!" Simmons whispered, glaring at the Hawaiian angrily. "Just wait."

After Grif went quiet again, they continued watching; Doc gently coaxed Washington into taking off his under-armor, showing a now yellow and brown stained adult diaper around his rear and privates, making the Reds hold in a gasp. Doc sighed, seeing Wash grimace at the sight. "Told you to wear the heavy-duty ones for the fight." Doc said, sanitizing his hands as he grabbed baby wipes from his medical kit, along with another adult diaper. "Don't worry, I can help you out."

"I can do it myself." Wash stated, reaching for the wipes, but he was stopped as Doc forced him to lay back down.

"You never get yourself clean enough; you got sick last time you changed yourself." Doc explained, opening the dirty diaper with Wash's help, reeling back from the stench it emitted. "Dang, Wash! Had to eat those rations when Meta warned you they were bad, didn't you?"

"I hadn't eaten in days!" Washington yelled back, glaring at Doc, shuffling uncomfortably as the other man changed him. "Not my fault we were running out of food..."

Doc sighed, shaking his head. "Just hold still, this'll only take a minute..."

Simmons looked away, focusing his gaze on Grif. "Why the fuck is Wash in a diaper? I mean... are Freelancers not toilet trained or some freaky-ass shit? You'd think they'd know how..."

Grif shrugged, turning to simply face Simmons instead of Doc and Washington. "I dunno; I think Tex knew how... pretty sure we'd hear alot more complaining from Church if she didn't."

"Both of ya shut up." Sarge whispered, glaring at the two men. "It ain't that he doesn't know how; see them scars on his abdominal?" He pointed at the scars on Wash's chest, to which Simmons and Grif nodded. "He might not be able to control it, that's all."

"Wait, so you're saying he has to wear diapers, even if he doesn't want to?" Grif inquired.

Sarge nodded, looking at Wash with pity.

"Dude... that's fucked up." Grif stated, frowning at the Freelancer. "Like, I knew Washington was kind of a douchebag and all, but I don't think anyone fucking deserves that."

"Yeah..." Simmons agreed, looking down at the grass covered ground with shame. "Let's not tell him about this."

They all nodded, and for a while, it was quiet, until Grif finally spoke up again. "... I wonder what they're like?"

Simmons's eyes widened as he swerved around, staring at Grif. "You can't be fucking serious?"

"Why not? I'm just wondering, man." Grif said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Is it so bad to wonder things? I mean, we ask why we're here every fucking day; wondering what a diaper feels like can't be so bad, right?"

"I thought I told you two to shut up." Sarge whispered, a dangerous edge in his voice. "Now quit yer yammerin' 'n let's go."

"Wait, we're leaving?" Grif asked, just as Wash pinned it on, letting out a sad sigh as he did so. "We're not gonna say anything?"

Sarge shook his head. "Let it be, Grif; as much as I'd like to say somethin' to at least Doc, it's not our place to do so."

"Guess you're right..." Simmons agreed, following Sarge and Grif out of the forest.

"I still wonder though..."

"Shut the fuck up, Grif!"

* * *

><p>After the whole 'intervention' thing, everything quieted down that day for Washington, which he thought was odd, considering that he knew Carolina, Connie, North, and York had overheard his explanation to Maine; he had expected them to say something to him or tease him, but when Maine finally convinced him to leave the bathroom, they had all left. For the rest of the day, Wash made a point of avoiding everyone but Maine, who he kept next to for everything, including training, which once again ended in an emergency trip to his room. This was getting ridiculous, and Wash had had enough, but he was still worried about going to see any of the on-board doctors about it.<p>

Maine had growled about it being a good idea to seek help, but Wash was still attempting to avoid too much attention being drawn to the matter, seeing as it was kind of a more 'personal' predicament. But still, Wash went to bed that night with a worried mind, a towel under himself, and a frown on his face; he just wanted this nightmare to end before it got any worse, little did he know, it would get at least a bit better soon enough. The next morning, Wash hopped outta bed, dressed in civvies (It was his day off); grey sweatpants, a yellow T-shirt reading 'Seattle' in grey lettering, red converse, and a beanie hat. He yawned as he heard a knock at his bedroom door, and was shocked to see the Counselor standing there.

"Oh, hello sir!" Wash said, saluting to the older man.

The Counselor nodded, smiling that almost too warm smile at Wash. "Good morning, Agent Washington. I trust you slept well?"

Wash was tempted to tell the Counselor about his nightmares, about all the bed-wetting that had been going on; the Counselor was said to have two daughters of his own, surely he of all people would understand? But he didn't say that, he only shrugged. "I see... well, the Director would like to see you now."

"What for?" Wash couldn't help but ask, giving the Counselor a worried look.

"It is not my place to say, Agent. I'll be seeing you now." With that, the Counselor walked away, acting as if he was just having a completely normal day at home, rather than living on a government owned spaceship.

Wash scratched his head, frowning at the Counselor's back as he disappeared down a hallway, leaving him with little peace. Now, what would the Director need at this time of day, especially on his day off?

* * *

><p>After that, the Reds made a point to not bother Washington, especially when Doc left to go bury Donut in Valhalla; they had seen how worried Wash was to see the medical officer leave, and didn't say a word to him about it. Meanwhile at Blue Base, after Doc took off, Tucker began to notice a sizable difference in Washington's behavior. Before he had been alot more stoic, making a point to seem like a deadly badass, but that had changed after Doc took off without him, leaving Wash by himself. The Freelancer had then kept to himself, which Tucker sort of understood; Doc had been Wash's only friend among the Reds and Blues, and it was hard to see him go, leaving him with a bunch of strangers.<p>

But things got worse; Doc didn't come back in a week like he promised, and the Reds and Blues chose to believe he had just gotten lost or was running a bit late. Two weeks had passed and they thought it odd that Doc was unheard from; three weeks and they decided he was dead. Wash kept a higher distance, staying in Church's old room for hours a day, only coming out if Caboose knocked hard enough for him to. Even then, Wash would be tense, constantly shifting in his new armor, which he refused to remove; Tucker figured he was just shy or some shit, nothing to really worry about. So, Tucker let a sleeping bear lie, not daring to press for information from Washington, however, that only stayed for about a month.

Finally, Tucker had had enough.

"Yo, Wash."

Washington glanced up from his seat beside Caboose on the couch; the younger Blue had convinced Wash to watch Spongebob or some shit with him, and since Caboose had fallen asleep, Tucker saw his chance to get answers out of Wash. "You've been pretty quiet lately." Tucker pointed out, leaning over the back of the couch to gaze at Wash. "Kinda distant even."

"Just getting used to Blood Gulch." Wash stated, trying to ignore Tucker, but that wasn't about to happen; why did Caboose have to fall asleep? At least when Caboose was awake, no one questioned him. "It's alot different then the MOI."

"MOI?" Tucker inquired, giving Wash an odd look.

"Mother of Invention." Washington filled in, shrugging as he laid back on the couch.

Tucker nodded. "Tex used to talk about that ship; said it was her home."

"She never treated it like home." Wash said, glaring now at the TV, which Tucker suddenly turned off. "What is it you need from me, Private Tucker?"

"Some answers; why're you so fucking distant from us? Like, I kinda understood it when Doc died, er, disappeared. But, dude, even Tex didn't get this fucking bad around us, and she spent hours in her room when her and Church fought!"

Wash growled under his breath. "Tex... she never did know when to stop challenging Carolina, to just stop trying to pick a fight with everyone... she's why Project Freelancer went to shit."

Tucker sighed dramatically, going limp on the couch. "Dude! You are so fucking dramatic, don't you ever smile?"

Wash tried to make a smile, but it only looked creepy; he stopped, glaring at Tucker. "I'm just saying what happened from my point of view, Tucker; sorry if my version is a little too depressing for you."

"Hey, why don't you just cut it out, okay? Quit avoiding the subject; why're you avoiding me and the Reds? The Reds I can understand, 'cus they're assholes... actually, Grif ain't that bad, and Simmons is annoying, but he's pretty cool sometimes... fuck it, just please answer my damn question!" Tucker demanded, glaring at the taller man angrily.

"Tucker? Washingtub?"

_Fuck._

"Yeah, Caboose?" Washington asked, almost smiling as relief washed over him; he was safe for awhile. "What's wrong, buddy?"

Caboose yawned, sitting up as he rubbed at his light blue eyes. "What're you and Tucker talking about, Wash?"

Washington shrugged, almost wanting to grin at Tucker, but figured that Tucker didn't deserve it; his questions were understandable, but Wash just wasn't willing to answer them quite yet. "Oh, nothing; Tucker just wants me to spend more time with you guys is all."

"Yeah," Tucker added, almost glaring at the smug bastard that was Agent Washington. "I just wanted Wash here to help me answer a few _questions_ that I can't _figure out_, but since you and him are gonna hang out, I'll ask later; I'm sure Wash _will_ answer them for me _sooner_ or later."

"I hope so too." Wash stated more than said, smiling a bit at Caboose, who beamed right back. "So, what're we gonna do now, Caboose?"

Caboose seemed to think it over. "How about we make a cake for the Reds!"

Wash wanted to sigh; kitchens and him had a very bad history according to his grandmother, and he really didn't want Caboose to set his hair on fire again, but he saw no alternative. "Alright, Caboose. But this time, let me set the stove."

Tucker walked away as Wash and Caboose headed to the kitchen, silently deciding that he'd ask the Reds what was up; they'd rode with Wash and Doc on the way here, right? They might know what was up...

* * *

><p>"You can't be <em>serious<em>!?"

Washington wasn't typically a yelling type of person; only when he was outraged or scared did he reach that high of an octave, but this was one of those 'horribly outraged' moments that kept Wash from being able to calm down. He glared at the Director, something he never dared to do, especially out of armor (He was convinced that the Director had cameras in their helmets to tell when they made faces at him or glared at him). The blonde man backed up though as the Director took a step towards him, glare strong and powerful. He gulped, unable to hide his nervousness from the powerful man that was the Director, who he wanted to believe looked smug about this whole ordeal.

"I believe I am, Agent Washington; it has come to my attention that your injuries from your last mission were far worse than our doctors predicted, and from the suggestion of your fellow teammates-"

"-_York_." Wash growled under his breath, glaring heated at the brunet, who ducked behind Carolina, waving shyly at Washington.

"-You will be wearing adult diapers until we can find a better solution." The Director finished, making Wash want to faint as he saw a box beside the man, making his heart drop into his stomach.

Wash backed up a step again, breathing heavily and slowly; this wasn't happening, it had to be nothing but a terribly cruel joke, surely the Director was kidding around with him, right? Yes, he had to be; it was just York and Wyoming teasing probably, although, Wash would be disappointed in York if he had told the Brit about Wash's incidents without permission; really, after this, Wash was going to kill the damned locksmith. "Sir, can't we just talk this over; I'm sure there are other soluti-" Wash was cut off.

"Agent Washington!" The Director shouted, making everyone straighten at attention. "I have discussed it with our surgeons and it has been confirmed that the surgery to reattach the correct cords in your abdominal could cost you too much blood and would ultimately kill you. Now then, would you rather risk your life for an almost certain death operation, or simply deal with a far less deadly solution?"

Wash stared at the Director, closing his fists and reopening them over and over, looking to the others; Wyoming, Carolina, York, Connie, Maine, North, South, and Florida refused to look at him. Some out of pity, some out of anger, some out of acceptance; it made Washington want to puke, or die, the later was a tad more preferable at this point. He shuffled a bit where he stood, refusing to look the Director in the eyes; was he really about to agree to this bullshit, surely there was another option, but knowing the Director, he wanted this to serve as a punishment for failing during his last mission. Wash just wanted to go back in time and kill that knife throwing bitch, but he couldn't do that, now could he?

"Fine." Washington agreed, crossing his arms stubbornly. "But I'm changing myself, sir."

"I'd hope so." The Director said, nodding as he started to leave the room. "You're all dismissed; and Agents, if I hear anything involving abusing Agent Washington about his current issue, I will not react as well as you'd hope." With that, he was gone.

_"Well, at least he's looking out for me."_ Washington thought grimly, glaring at the box on the floor with an evil glare. "I can't believe any of this." He said sadly, watching as a few Freelancers were already leaving, while a few stuck around.

"It won't be all that bad, lad." Wyoming assured Wash, patting him on the shoulder as he passed by, leaving him in peace.

Florida stuck around, smiling at Wash in a very friendly manner, to which Wash was almost sickened by; he didn't want reassurance or a pat on the back, he wanted a damned cure. "You know, if you ever need any help changing, you can ask-"

Wash pointedly glared at Florida, picked up the box, and stormed off. "Thanks but no thanks, Florida." He muttered, leaving to spend the rest of his day off in the peace and comfort of his bedroom.

Everything could be fine though now; everything would just go by as normal, Wash knew it could soon enough. But even so, his mind was worried about so many things, namely about how he was going to adjust with the newest change. But it would fine, he assured himself, it would all be fine.

It just had to be.

* * *

><p>"Wash is acting weird?"<p>

Tucker wanted to slap himself in face from Simmons's response, instead he simply sighed, shaking his head at the much taller man, the second tallest in the canyon with Caboose as the tallest. "Yeah, of course he's acting weird! Haven't you noticed how he avoids you guys?"

"I'd hope he'd be avoiding us." Grif said, yawning loudly. "I mean, we kinda shoot at him when we see him... so you'd sorta fucking expect it."

"Still, even I talk to you guys sometimes, and so does Caboose; Wash refuses to even leave the base half the time, and I'm sick of it!" Tucker yelled, crossing his arms as he glared at the ground. "I mean, he's a pretty cool dude, but... he keeps locking himself in his room..."

Simmons and Grif exchanged a look, making Tucker squint his eyes at them. "Oh man, you fuckers know what's going on, don't you?" He accused, turning to Grif. "Come on, man; we're sorta friends, you can tell me what's up."

"It's not our place to say..." Simmons said, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. "I mean... we didn't even mean to find out, we only followed Doc and Wash and then boom, we-" Grif slapped a hand over Simmons's mouth, shutting him up.

Now Tucker had really had it. "Seriously, guys! He's my fucking teammate, as weird as it still is, I gotta know what's up with him!" He said, then calmed himself down; he rarely got so pissed off, but dealing with Washington along with Caboose was getting to him more and more with each day. "Just... cut me some slack, guys."

With another exchanged look, Grif sighed dramatically, deciding he'd take the fall for it. "Alright, so, don't fucking tell Wash we know or tell Sarge we told, but... okay, this is gonna be fucking weird to explain properly, but Wash is wearing diapers."

Tucker went silent, staring at the Reds with wide eyes.

"Way to ease it down for him, Grif." Simmons muttered, glaring at said orange soldier.

Grif rolled his eyes. "I did better than you would've done."

"No; you make it sound like Wash actually likes wearing them, you retard! Sarge said it was because of the scars on his abdominal, you didn't even explain that part!" Simmons yelled, waving his arms in the air. "Next time, let me explain!"

"I thought we agreed if we ever talked about it, I'd explain?" Grif said, frowning at Simmons in the poorly lit cave; the Reds had only agreed to meet with Tucker in the caves because it would be way outta rang from Sarge and the other Blues at Blue Base.

"No, we agreed you were a fatass." Simmons said, smirking at the slightly shorter man.

Tucker still stood there, dumbfounded. "Wait... so, can he not control it or some shit?" But he got no response; Grif and Simmons were too busy arguing. Tucker sighed, walking away. "Part of me wants you two to just shut up, the other wants you to shut up and kiss already; fuck it, I'll find out myself. Bye, bitches!"

Thankfully, Grif caught that last bit. "Bye, Bluetard!"

"You're gonna die alone!"

"You're gonna die a virgin!"

"Your sister takes it up the ass!"

"I hope Wash sees your internet history!"

No one can deny that Grif and Tucker were good friends.

* * *

><p>"It's not all that bad." York said, smiling at Washington hopefully; he had been sitting with the younger Freelancer alone for the last three hours, and those hours had been spent watching TV in the lounge and just talking really. "I mean, you could've gone blind."<p>

"Not all that bad? Are you kidding me, this sucks! I'm never going to be taken seriously again!" Wash yelled, dramatically flailing to lay on the couch, glaring at the ceiling evilly; he could barely see Florida and Wyoming hanging out together in the rafters, probably drinking tea together and exchanging war stories. "I'll be surprised if South ever looks at me with a straight face after all of this."

"Oh come on, North said he talked to her about it. Besides, the Director will kill anyone who fucks with you about it, he honestly has your back on this one." York explained, smiling down at the over-dramatic man.

Wash rolled his eyes. "Yeah right, this is all a punishment from the Director for failing on that mission, I just fucking know it."

York nodded, relaxing into the couch. "Hey, I'm just saying, it could've been way worse; would you rather be dead right now, Wash?"

"I've considered it." Washington admitted, sighing to himself. "It's just... nothing will ever be the same for me anymore. Yeah, I'll maybe get used to it one day, but do you really think I'll find anyone who will love me after PFL? And that's just suggesting I'd survive that long. But say I do; who would love a grown man in diapers?"

York shrugged, wrapping an arm around the younger man, ignoring the way his friend's pants crinkled on the couch. "I'm here for ya, man. And hey, when this is all over, I'll set you up with someone. Hell, maybe you can marry CT!"

Wash looked away, eyes downcast. "... or Maine." He suggested.

York sat up, surprised by Wash's response. "Whoa, really?"

"Yeah, got a problem with that?" Wash inquired, almost wanting to crack a joke at York about it, but he wasn't in the mood.

"No, just... didn't know you swung that way, man." York said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "But hey, I ain't judging, Maine seems... nice? I dunno, I haven't known him for as long as you have, Wash."

Wash smiled at Maine, watching the SPARTAN turn to him, waving. Wash waved back, smiling all the while, forgetting his problems. "Well... he's a great guy, once you really get to know him better."

"Um... Wash?" York asked, scooting away.

"What?" Wash asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh..." York pointed at Wash's pants, still scooting away.

"What... aw fuck!"

* * *

><p>Washington noticed something was up about five days later, when he noticed something off. He always seemed to wet himself in the night, but recently, he had been waking up dry; it just wasn't right in a way. He wanted to be happy about it, but he knew that something was up; everyday he'd wake up to find a different diaper on, as strange as it was, and his mind always came up with twenty or so different, terrible scenarios. Still, he had finally decided to find out how this was happening. That day, Wash slipped out of Blue Base without a word; Tucker didn't even stop him, just smiled and nodded at Wash, which he found odd, considering how suspicious Tucker had been of him when he first came to Blood Gulch.<p>

He ignored it though, opting to just hurry on off to the caves underneath Blood Gulch, where he knew a large amount of high tech computers were; how did he know this? Well, unlike most people, he actually listened to Simmons when he went on about things. The Freelancer was quick to scale through the winding tunnels of the caves, unable to hide his child-like excitement at the amazing sights inside; why the Reds and Blues didn't use the caves more often, he'd never know. After only a few more minutes, Washington reached the computers that monitored the two bases, quickly finding the feed from the last five days of his bedroom in Blue Base; he'd find out what was going on in no time.

The feed soon played, and Wash managed to find the volume, turning it on to watch the video feed from Monday; it was around two in the morning, and he could see himself rolling around uncomfortably, either from nightmares or needing to clean up after himself. Suddenly, light flooded into the room from his door opening, producing a strong figure as they walked in, lazily carrying a bag over their shoulder. Wash looked closer, barely able to make out long, coiled hair hanging down in a ponytail, as well as very dark skin; the shadow wore a teal T-shirt, as well as black boxers. It had to be Tucker, as horrible as that thought was for Washington, he couldn't deny that it was him; there were no other African American's in the canyon as far as he knew.

"Alright, man; let's hope you're not too different from Junior." Tucker mumbled in the video to himself, kneeling in front of the sleeping version of Wash. "Grif better not have been lying, or he's a dead man."

Grif? What did Grif of all people have to do with anything?

Before Washington could question it any further though, Tucker was already cleaning him up in the video, much to his utter embarrassment. No one had ever changed him, well, on occasion, the Freelancers would be forced to if he had been KO'd in battle, but no one ever mentioned it much or teased him for it; Hell, not even South jacked with him about that. He shook his head, refocusing as the video ended with Tucker finishing and leaving, the video feed ending there. Wash sighed, staring at the floor as he shook his head. So, if Tucker had mentioned that Grif knew too, then that would have to include Simmons, which would also bring in Sarge, who would... yeah, all of Red Team had to know by then.

But, as long as no one mentioned it, it would be fine, right? Of course it would be, right... who was he kidding? Washington was a dead man.

* * *

><p>It did not really register in Washington's mind how this particular thing started, all he remembered was a very frustrated Agent Maine, a slightly lovey dovy pair of Agents New York and Carolina, and the images of South assuring Connie that 'it' would be fine and she'd be gentle. Thing is, no one told the Freelancers about one of the Insurrectionists having sex pollen in their possession, nor did they warn them that the shitty pink stuff on their armor was the pollen and that they shouldn't touch any part of their skin with the junk; in short, all of the Freelancers (Everyone had been on that mission) were now highly intoxicated by sex pollen and were thoroughly enjoying each other's company in the privacy of their bedrooms.<p>

Washington, for his part, was more or less carried to Maine's bedroom after everyone had left, mentally agreeing at the same time that the other was plenty perfect for a one night stand or more. Maine was far rougher than most men, and tossed Wash unceremoniously onto his large bed, seeing as he needed the extra room as a SPARTAN who thrashed in his sleep. Wash almost purred thanks to the pollen as Maine removed his armor at record speed, settling over him in only the under-suit of the thick undercoating of underarmor. The man helped Wash outta his armor, being careful around anything that had injuries underneath from the mission. Once Wash was just as under-dressed as Maine, they grinded against each other while making out, moaning into the sloppy kisses.

Wash was about to say they should just get all of their clothes off, but Maine beat his ass to it, practically ripping off their under-suits. However, Wash went white as a sheet as he remembered the diaper between his legs, attempting to cover himself or even leave, as to not disappoint Maine, but damn, the SPARTAN was persistent about what he wanted. Without a word, Maine stripped him, and didn't bat an eye at the thankfully dry diaper Wash wore, simply tossing it aside and grabbing a tiny bottle of lube from a side-drawer, to which Wash chuckled, earning an odd growl from Maine.

"And here I thought I was the only one." Wash said, referring to the bottle. "You use the flavored shit too?"

Maine grumbled out an answer, which basically explained that the flavored kind was all anyone could sneak on board of the MOI without getting caught, and that he had bought it off Wyoming weeks before. "Oh, Wyoming uses it?" Maine raised an eyebrow at Wash as a result. "Oh, right, Florida, almost forgot about those two being a thing... damn, they're pr-" Maine glared at Wash. "Oh, right, yeah, shutting up now, got it."

* * *

><p>"I know."<p>

Tucker barely even looked up from the TV as Washington towered over him from behind the couch, hands on his hips as he glared at the shorter Blue. Tucker rolled his eyes, not even looking at the Freelancer, until he swerved around to tell him to just fuck off, only to see an odd sight. Wash was out of armor, clad in only a pair of sweatpants, an overly big T-shirt reading 'Blue Team' (Certainly Caboose's), and yellow socks on his feet; he had short, scruffy blonde hair, grey/blue eyes, and a light fuzz for a beard that was attempting to grow in. The younger Blue looked Washington up and down, taking in what he couldn't in the darkness of the older man's bedroom, eventually, he snorted, turning back to the TV.

"You need to shave, dude." Tucker suggested, flicking the channel after becoming bored with the show. "Also, you're short outta armor."

"You're shorter, Lavernius." By the way Wash spat out his first name, Tucker knew he wasn't playing games.

Sighing, Tucker simply turned off the TV, twisting around on the couch to glare childishly at Wash. "So, I guess the cats outta the bag, huh? Figured you'd find out sooner or later..."

"Tell me why." Wash ordered, glaring at Tucker, the icy blue in his eyes bearing into Tucker without mercy. "I want to know why you even thought doing that was the least bit acceptable or even the right-"

"Quit your bitching." Tucker interrupted, ignoring the way Wash's teeth bared a bit; if Tucker could stand Church's angry glares and gazes, he could easily handle an irritated Agent Washington. "I found out, okay? You sure as fuck weren't gonna tell me, so I asked the Reds if they knew what was up."

"And?" Wash pressed on, taking a seat on the couch beside Tucker. "What did they say?"

Tucker shrugged. "Well, Sarge told me to pretty much fuck off and almost shot me, but Grif and Simmons agreed to tell me after awhile. Look, I didn't mean to start shit, I just wanted to help I guess; I mean, we can't have you dying too, Caboose needs a new Church."

Wash nodded, sighing deeply. "Now it's your turn." Tucker broke in, making Wash's head snap up, staring wildly at Tucker. "You heard me, smartass; tell me what's up with the diapers."

The man groaned, shaking his head. "It's... complicated; awhile back, back before Epsilon fucked my life over, we were on a mission... some woman came out of nowhere and fought with me, cornering me and stabbing me in the lower abdomen."

"Is that _bad_?" Tucker asked. "I mean, like, _fatal_?"

"It was supposed to be." Wash said, shaking his head. "But those doctors on the MOI saved my ass, and I was let out of Recovery after a few weeks. At first, nothing changed, just a few new scars and people asking about it, but nothing major. Then, well, you can probably figure it out."

Tucker scrunched up his face, but his eyes widened at the realization. "_Oh_..." He sounded it out, shutting his mouth tightly after it came out. "_Wow_."

"No kidding." Wash muttered, running his hands through his hair. "At first, I didn't tell a soul, and I thought I was a freak or something; when I was a kid, I wet the bed alot, so I got teased relentlessly by kids at school for it, so I guess that fear came back a bit... Anyways, long story short, a few other Freelancers, thankfully nice ones, found out about it and somehow got the Director involved."

Tucker made a soft hissing sound, backing up a bit. "Fuck man, that sucks shit."

"It wasn't so bad." Washington mused, leaning into the couch more as he relaxed into his story. "In the end, he made sure no one gave me shit about, but in return I had to wear-" He gestured to his lap, to which Tucker nodded. "-This."

"That still fucking sucks, Wash." Tucker said, sounding almost frustrated by it. "Wait, so did the Director tell everyone about it, just like that?"

"Basically." Wash grimaced at the remembrance of the meeting, of having to stand up there in front of everyone, shaking and nearly crying from embarrassment and intense amounts of worry. "But thankfully it was pretty much forgotten when Tex rolled around."

Tucker's eyebrow went up curiously. "What did she do?" He asked.

"That's a whole different story." Wash announced, which really meant 'That shits hardcore and needs time to be told properly'. "One for another day."

"You sound like an old man." Tucker stated matter-of-factly. "Cancel that, you sound like Sarge after he watches his old war movies and all those weird fucking cop shows. Or Old Yeller; he gets kinda weird for a few days if he watches that."

Washington chuckled, grabbing a spare shotgun that Sarge had left at the base once, holding it exactly the way Sarge did. "_Men_!" He shouted, his voice mimicking Sarge. "Those Dirty Blues are up to no good yet again, which means I'm gonna order you all around with a ridiculous amount of dumbass orders that are _sure_ to help us win the war! For our ancestors!"

Tucker lost it, rolling on the floor as he fell into a fit of giggling and full blown laughter, tears brimming in his eyes even. "H-holy s-shit, Wash! Y-you need to d-do more f-fucking impressions!" The last word came out as a shrill little screech, to which Wash chuckled.

Wash threw the shotgun aside, smiling a bit at Tucker as he stood, wiping his eyes a hefty amount as he regained his composure. "Jesus motherfucking Christ, Agent Washington. Where did you learn to do that?"

"Years of practice." Wash assured Tucker, hands on his hips as he watched Tucker stand back up.

"Any examples?" Tucker questioned.

"Well, back in the Project, this one time North and South got me good with a water-balloon prank, so I had a bit of revenge to get. So, when no one was looking, I stole the microphone from the Director's office and imitated his voice... long story short, I slept in the Pelican that night with a black-eye and a broken nose." Wash explained, wincing at the memory. "Be glad you never had to spar with Carolina; she can throw one _Hell_ of a punch when she's irritated, and do not get me _started_ on when she's mad."

Tucker nodded, grinning all the while. "What ever happened to her?"

Wash stopped, feeling uncomfortable for a number of reasons all at once. "She died, well, she got _killed_ to be more specific... she was the first to die by Maine's hand..."

"I'm sorry," Tucker said, looking honest to God sorry for all he was worth. "I didn't-"

"It's not your fault," Washington cut in, smiling as the memories faded. "You were curious, and it was my choice to respond."

Tucker shrugged, walking past Wash on his way to the kitchen. "So, what're we gonna do now, Wash?"

"What do you mean?" Wash asked, leaning on the other side of the counter as Tucker made himself a sandwich. "I think we're pretty stable where we are, Blood Gulch is a great-"

"Seriously, I'm talking about _you_, dumbass." Tucker said, glaring halfheartedly at Wash. "You gonna tell Caboose and just be open with this shit, or are you gonna go through another 'Emo Wash' stage on me?"

Washington sighed, shaking his head. "I dunno, maybe?" He looked almost deflated. "It's a hard decision."

"All of Red Team knows, and I know too; the only one who doesn't is Caboose, and we all know he wears those things constantly." Tucker explained, still trying to focus offhandedly at making his lunch. "Look, I'm just saying you've got nothing to lose, man."

"That's what I'm worried about." Wash stated, sitting on the counter instead of leaning on it. "What if... fuck it, it's dumb."

"_What_?" Tucker pressed on, sounding almost agitated. "Spit it out, man."

Wash sighed, looking away. "What if Caboose expects me to act like a baby?"

That got Tucker even more confused. "Wait, what? Why would you even fucking think that, dude?"

"Well, Caboose acts very child-like, which is commonly known in this canyon. And since he wears diapers, it might actually add onto that somewhat; I'm just saying, he might expect me to act the same way, and if I don't, I'm worried it'll damage his idea on diapers or something." Wash explained, sounding tired.

"Dude," Tucker sounded tired, rubbing his face in that fashion, further adding onto that effect. "You realize Caboose isn't a baby, right? Yeah, the dude wears diapers and does kid shit alot, but that doesn't mean he's got the mind of a two-year old. Man, if I was that carefree, I'd act like a kid too."

"So, you're saying Caboose won't be too freaked out?" Wash inquired, as if begging for Tucker to be telling the truth. "I mean, I'll still stay 'In The Closet' about this if it's easier, but-"

As if called upon by God, Caboose strode on into Blue Base, smiling and waving as he saw Tucker, but stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Washington. For a second, their eyes locked, both not saying a damned thing before Tucker spoke up. "Hey, Caboose; how was it at the Red's?"

Upon getting no answer, Tucker looked away, made uncomfortable with dread at what might go down. After a few minutes, Caboose just grinned, running over and patting Wash's face kindly. "Your face is soft, Agent Wash." He commented before running off, supposedly to do his own thing.

"Told ya," Tucker stated, as if he'd never been nervous, walking right past Washington with his newly prepared lunch. "Now then, if you'll excuse me, hockey season has kicked off on Earth and I gotta watch the Red Wings kick some serious ass!" With that, he plopped onto the couch, turning on the TV with a chuckle.

Wash stared, still a bit disgruntled, but soon sighed with a bit of content, just glad nothing catastrophic had come about with his confrontation with Tucker or his interaction with Caboose. At least now, he thought, he could have a better nights sleep.

Well, as better of a nights sleep he could have these days.

_Fin_

_To Be Continued?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Definitely an odd story-arc this'll be, but fuck it, I like where this is going so far, even though I'm certain others won't. Anyways, I'll have more up as they're written, though, some chapters will be shameless smut, and others will be a full on story with it, like this one surely was (I have another Doc/Washington/Meta one I'm working on, will need millions of warnings for that). I hope you enjoyed! Please read and review, also, feel free to request just about anything; I'm not only here to get out my own smutty crap, but other people's if they want it!**

**~CabooseHeart.**


	2. Breathe, Soldier Part 1

**Bow Chicka Bow Wow**

**Title: Breathe, Soldier**

**Part 1: Giving Me The Creeps**

**Pairing: Locington (Locus/Agent Washington)**

**Warning(s): M/M Slash, Intense Sexual Intercourse, Desperation, Referenced Knife Play, Sexual Tension, Referenced Breath Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Power Kink, Abuse of Power, Mentioned Abuse, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Mentioned Character Death, Etc.**

**Description: There are things Washington has failed to tell Tucker and Caboose about, or even Sarge and Donut for that matter. Alot happened before they left the Feds... things Washington will never forget. In which nightmares are a constant for Wash, and Locus is terrifying, more terrifying than the nightmares. He swears it's nothing at first... but it keeps the monsters away. At least, the ones in his dreams...**

**A/N: Was meant originally for just smut, but I actually got carried away... again. Locington is secretly a huge ship of mine, so... yeah. Once again, it seems in this series Wash doesn't have the upper-hand, but at least he's more controlled, if ya know what I mean (And by that I mean not at all in some ways).**

* * *

><p>"F-Fuck!"<p>

The younger, much less experienced teenager moved along with the man on top of him, allowing the older boy to take control. All of this was so wrong... but David was sixteen, sixteen and desperate to break a few rules. This older guy offered him that. David briefly remembered a name for the guy... was it Rufus? God, he couldn't think, not with the two thankfully lube-covered fingers rocking into his once virgin hole, trying to ease around and find his prostate. Young David did as the man instructed, shifting when he was told, but listening and focusing was getting continuously harder as those seemingly magic fingers did their job. Dave gasped aloud as Rufus's index finger brushed his prostate, making him jerk at once.

"Finally," Rufus laughed, smiling down at David, as if he were a little, helpless mouse. "Thought I'd never find it... you ready, David?"

David nodded, whimpering a tad as those fingers left him, making him feel empty and hot all at once. Before he could grow too saddened by that, something much bigger than a finger lightly prodded at his hole, making David grunt, trying to push down and get it in hard and fast. Rufus, or whatever his name was, did not leave David hanging, quickly complying and easing his own erection into the pitiful blonde's asshole. David moaned as the first thrust rocked him back, his head hitting the headboard of his small bed. Nana wouldn't be home for another four hours, so he didn't hold back as he almost screamed at another thrust. Rufus was going faster, faster than anything, and David was reaching his peek, especially as Rufus started jerking David's erected dick, making him moan louder.

"F-Fuck... I'm close!" David warned, whimpering as he tried to shut his mouth. Yeah, nobody but he and Rufus were home, but still... he had never liked being loud, not at school, not at home, not anywhere.

"Just come," Rufus offered, his tone going gentle as he jerked David harder and faster, his latest thrust making him come himself. "Just... let it go, David."

As David finally came, his hot cum splashing in-between he and Rufus, when he heard something like an explosion going off. He opened his eyes minutes later, still panting and worn out, only to see Rufus gone. "Rufus?" He called out, looking around. Why did he feel like this had happened before? It couldn't though, he'd never had sex of any kind up until that point, so how-

_He woke up._

* * *

><p>"Agent Wash?"<p>

"_Sh_, Sarge, I think he's still sleeping!"

"Of course he is, dumbnuts! Why ya think 'm tryin' to wake his ass up!?"

"But, _Sarge_!"

"Don't try my patience, boy."

Agent David Cooper Washington awoke with a groan, coming to with a drowsy headache already setting in, as well as aches and pains entering other various limbs of his body. Where was he? As he sat up and looked around, Washington became very well aware of where he was all too soon. He was with the Feds, the Federal Army of Chorus to be more specific, and he'd only come to after a short coma the day before. He had a check-up with the Fed's doctor at six AM... but what time was it anyhow? The soldier stood up, instantly regretting it as he felt a very sharp morning wood poke in anguish in his codpiece. The man wanted to groan, but held back, keeping a straight face as he faced Sarge and Donut.

"Wash, you're up!" Donut cried cheerfully, smiling widely, his helmet discarded while the rest of his armor was on securely. "Doctor Grey wanted us to tell you that you were late, and she wants to see you ASAP!"

"Dammit, Donut," Sarge cried, smacking the younger rookie on the head, his own helmet securely on his head. He and Wash had similar standards when it came to wearing armor. "You didn't even tell 'em 'bout Lopez!"

"Lopez?" Washington questioned, only to remember the Spanish robot a second too late. "I thought they fixed him yesterday, where is he anyhow?"

Sarge would've looked heartbroken by Washington's guess if he had been unarmored. "Aw, Lopez, my only real friend... they took 'em off 'n said he needed fixin'! Oh, why, why you terrible, forsaken God I once swore was Red!?" He collapsed onto Wash outta nowhere.

The grey soldier was completely surprised, but soon softened, patting Sarge's backing both awkwardly and comfortingly. "I'm... sure he's fine, Sarge... they wouldn't hurt Lopez, not on our watch." He had comforted his Nana on more than one occasion, but this, comforting an insane war veteran? Wash was clueless as to what to do. "Um... I better go see the doctor. I'll be back soon, 'kay?"

"Okey dokey!" Donut replied, taking Washington's place in hugging Sarge, but he did it with more passion and enthusiasm. "I'll take of 'em for ya!"

"Um... thanks, Donut..." Wash muttered, walking off, but not without a noticeably oddness in his step, coming from the awful hard-on between his legs.

Oh yes... It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>The grey Freelancer moved quickly through the hallways, figuring out halfway through to the main entrance that he had no clue where the doctor's office was. No matter, he could find it on his own! Washington walked more slowly this time, feet echoing in the empty hallways, seeing as all of the soldiers were out training or in the mess hall eating. As a few more minutes passed, Wash became continuously more lost, until he'd wound up somewhere farther off from the barracks. He looked around earnestly, trying to spot anything that looked remotely like a doctor's office, but everything looked so much alike, it was hard to spot any particular landmarks or signs. Sighing, Wash was ready to give up, until a deep voice broke through the air.<p>

"Agent Washington, you're up rather late." Locus commented, standing directly behind the Freelancer.

Washington swung around full force, glaring daggers behind his visor at the mercenary. How in God's name had Locus gotten the drop on him? Had to be the invisibility upgrade to his armor, Wash reasoned. "What're you doing here, Locus?"

The mercenary put away his weapon, stepping closer to Wash, a little too close really. "The Doctor asked me to fetch you... you're an hour later for your check-up, Agent."

The no doubt younger man looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the way Locus was looking at him. "Thanks, I guess." He muttered out, turning towards what he hoped was the doctor's office.

"Other way." Locus stated, without even looking at Washington.

"Oh, uh, I know. Just had to turn around is all." Washington explained, running past Locus again to another building.

Before he could get away however, Wash was grabbed by the back of his upper-body armor, being yanked backwards by Locus. "Agent Washington, in the future, if you're ever in need of a guide of the camp, I'd be happy to oblige." The mercenary promised, soon letting go, his grip having lingered a bit.

"Yeah, I'll keep it in mind, thanks," Washington lied, walking back towards the doctor's office. "I said it before and I'll say it again, Locus; you aren't my friend." The Freelancer stated, turning to glare again at Locus.

Locus simply nodded, pulling out his Saw once more, walking away. "I've never wanted to befriend you, Agent." He explained, before disappearing once more from the man's vision.

Wash shivered, shaking his head. "And I thought I was melodramatic." He muttered, running off again to find Dr. Grey and get his stupid check-up over with.

* * *

><p>"Great to see ya showed up, Agent Washington," Emily Grey greeted, looking none too happy at her patient's lateness. "I'll need you to strip out of your armor now and sit on the bed, please."<p>

"But, I-" It felt odd somewhere in Washington's mind that he spoke up, but hey, he wasn't about to just show his body to anybody. Of course, if he had ready expected to avoid this, he would've just never shown up. "Are you sure we need to-"

"Agent Washington," Wash heard a certain amount of both anger and impatience leaking in Dr. Grey's throat. "You're already really late for this check-up, and I have other patients waiting for me. Please, don't make me get somebody to help." By help, Wash could deduce she meant have someone come in and manhandle him out of his armor.

Washington tried not to make any smartass retorts as he finally started to pull off his armor, minding the doctor's steady gaze on his person. He squirmed a bit under that look, reminding himself that she was a doctor, one who he could trust in looking at his body. Thing was, the only people who'd ever seen him naked were his long since dead parents, his Nana, the prostitute he'd hired at sixteen to fuck senseless and good, Maine, The Director (He'd screamed that time), and Carolina (Again, screamed). That was quite the list, but Wash still felt a certain touch of modesty. He'd always been modest body-wise, never talking-wise (He couldn't even count how many times he'd back-talked York or North).

However, he pushed those remaining strands of modesty out the window as he found himself only in his boxers and helmet, finding that he must've looked ridiculous. Emily sighed, smirking though as she forced Washington to sit on a medical fold-out table. "You're more modest than rookie during his first group shower." She commented, running her hands over his ribs, making the man stiffen on instinct. "Easy there, tiger," She ordered, voice soft. "I'm not gonna kill you... hopefully."

"That doesn't really help, to be honest," Wash mentioned, freezing when Emily stopped checking his bandaged sides, hands making a move for the seal-release on his helmet. "Don't... don't do that."

"I need to check your head for any signs of a concussion, as well as review the surgery I did a few days ago." Emily explained, stopping to take her own helmet off. Her eyes were shocking purple, while her hair was a soft auburn color. "See? S'not so bad." She explained.

"I'm not a child," Wash stated, letting Emily take off his helmet, his arms wrapping around his middle. "Stop talking to me like I'm crazy."

Emily placed Washington's helmet beside the Freelancer, returning her hands to his face, to which Wash tried not to meet her eyes, trying to turn away, only making her irritated. "Oh, stop it, ya big baby," She ordered, smirking when Wash huffed. "Hold still, I'm almost done."

After what felt like forever, Emily Grey let go of Washington's face, walking to her computer, which was set up on her desk idly. She picked up a mic connected to it, clicking it on. "Patient Agent Washington shows signs of past abuse, as predicted. Patient also showed reluctance to follow orders, as well as a large amount of modesty. The surgery seems to have been a success, no lasting trauma seems to have come to the neural implants in the patient's neck. On an added note, the patient's eyes are grey/blue, his hair is a suicide blonde, and he seems to have Asian heritage. I have theories that he is a Patch Baby. Finish Recording."

"You do that for every patient?" Wash asked playfully, but didn't make any further moves to unwind before the doctor. He silently pretended that a part of him hadn't internally flinched at the mentioning of Patch Babies.

"It's necessary these days," Emily explained, moving back over to Washington, lifting one of his arms experimentally. "Do you feel any pain in any parts of your body, specifically in your head or neck?"

Wash shook his head. "None that're too severe." He explained, looking away as Emily recorded his reply into her computer. "Are we done yet? I'd like to scout the camp and get a feel for it."

"Of course," Emily mused back, smiling at Wash. "You were an... alright patient. Not lollypop worthy, but you did better than Locus ever did." She started saving her computer files. "I'll be seeing you back here soon enough, Wash. See ya then!"

The blonde almost asked about Locus's visit, but decided at the last minute that it was better to just keep quiet. The faster he could be in his armor, the better. The man hopped off the table, reclaiming his under-suit, when a knock hit the door. Before anyone could answer, Locus walked in, stopping to stare at Washington. The blonde squirmed under the mercenary's gaze, unused to the attention to his body. Besides, he'd hardly ever been out of armor since Project Freelancer, and just being in his just his under-suit was enough to make him feel naked before Locus. The Freelancer soon gathered his bearings and started to re-armor, ignoring Locus's still roaming eyes.

"Locus," Emily sounded both mad and stern, which made Wash almost chuckle at the thought of such a young girl challenging a giant monster like Locus. "I told you to wait for me to answer before you just barge in. You're lucky it wasn't Doyle I was checking, he would've fainted!" She crossed her arms, glaring at the mercenary.

"My apologizes, doctor." Locus spoke with a certain touch of sincere apology in his voice, giving Wash the impression that Emily had saved Locus's sorry ass more than once before. "I'll try and remember that next time... the General asked me to bring you this," He hands her a well-locked box, which Emily takes quickly and happily. "He seems... _hesitant_ to give it to you."

"Oh, _goody_!" Emily's once stern demeanor changed just like that, her voice going sweet and adorable once more. "My monkey lungs are here! I've been wanting to do a few experiments on these puppies for so long now... looks like I've got something to do this weekend!" She nodded at Washington, seeing him fully armored. "You can go now, Agent Washington. Sorry for the wait!"

"No problem" Wash mumbled back, holding his hands up, backing away towards the door very slowly. Emily was acting alot like Sarge when he got excited about experiments... he wasn't about to find out if she got similar results as the Red Team leader anytime soon. "I'll be on my way then," He decided, walking past Locus, refusing the urge to shove past him or growl under his breath. "I'm going to go check on Sarge and see if Lopez is outta repairs."

Even as Washington left, he could still fell Locus's eyes on his retreating person, making him feel smaller and smaller with each, long, tedious step away from the doctor's office.

* * *

><p>"We're being <em>separated<em>!?"

Donut sounded, as Washington had expected, terrified and honestly betrayed. He watched the pink soldier with a sad expression under his helmet, desperately wishing it didn't have to go down this way. As it turns out, the Feds had bases everywhere, well, almost everywhere, and they need Donut, Sarge, and Lopez elsewhere, while Washington is needed there. Wash sighed under his breath, not loud enough for Donut to hear over his panicking, loud enough for Lopez to process, sad enough for Sarge to give him a concerned tilt of his own helmet. Wash patted Donut's shoulder awkwardly, like he had hugged Sarge that morning, feeling out of place and unnecessary.

Locus was off to the side, watching the little interaction steadily, his gaze focused mainly on Washington once more, making the grey and yellow soldier uncomfortable as it had before. When deeply thought upon, Wash had wished he could also accompany the Reds, but in reality, he knew damn well knew that he was needed wherever he could assist. Wash was... he wasn't dedicated, not in the way he knows dedication. _Dedication_ is working overtime at a fast-food restaurant to afford your Nana's pills, _dedication_ is signing up for a war your father believed in at age sixteen, _dedication_ is joining a project you've never heard of just to make a difference, _dedication_ is protecting the Simulation Soldiers who protected you once.

Protecting the Federalists is not the dedication Washington knows, but it's... _something._

"Well, if you're all ready... may we be off?" Doyle sounded scared to intervene, as Wash expected, but he could see the fluid evidence of true dedication on his face for the military. Doyle was out of armor, wearing a finely pressed suit, having to leave for a conference in the same place the Reds are going off to. "I hate to rush-" That much is obvious. "-But... we are on a very tight schedule."

"Understood," Sarge replied, sounding strangely accepting of the whole 'Working for the Feds' deal they had going on. "We'll be ready in just a sec 'ere, General." He turned to Donut, taking Wash's place in patting his back. "Come on, son," He ordered softly, guiding him away from the Freelancer. "Let's get'a goin'."

"_*Sniff*_, Do we gotta, Sarge?" Donut begged to know, hiccuping lightly into his armored arm, hunched over as he looked up for confirmation to Sarge. When his leader finally nodded, he looked to Wash, his fear apparent, even with his armor on. "Bye, Wash." He muttered, walking away.

"We'll be back sooner than ya think," Sarge promised, nodding at Wash. As usual, he was reading everyone like a book. "Keep my shotgun while 'm gone, ya here?"

"Um..." Doyle spoke up, fidgeting behind the Sargent. "I do believe you are permitted to bring your, er, shotgun. However, I also believe that close-combat weapons would n-" Without even hearing Doyle all the way out, Sarge was long gone, off to get his shotgun. "At least we can expect him to... um, _inspire_ our soldiers?" He decided, slowly walking away. "Come along then, we must be on our way!"

Donut followed along with Lopez, both giving Wash one last, long look. "I'll be fine," Washington promised, waving at the two Reds, now turned three as Sarge regrouped at record time. "You guys get those soldiers trained so we can get our friends back sooner."

With that, Sarge, Donut, and Lopez were led out of the Federalist base, and into a Warthog with Doyle. Wash sighed, before Locus loomed behind him, a heavy hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "They'll be fine, Agent." Locus promised, but it almost sounded like a guarantee, like he could control their protection somehow.

Wash brushed Locus off, glaring at the green and black mercenary. "I don't need your comfort, Locus." He spat back, storming off, only to be stopped again by the larger man.

"If you're ever in need of my... _assistance_-" Washington was smart enough to catch what Locus was throwing at him. "Feel free to come get me..." Locus walked off after that, leaving Wash be with his thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>

**A/N: Sadly, it's not the Grimmons I've been working on for Yin, but Locington is my dirty ship and I just HAD to get something else posted on here... but yeah, more slash for the next part for sure! At the very least, this has slash in it, which I actually liked somewhat. Again, I'm fairly unexperienced with writing slash fanfictions, so please, keep that in mind! Please R&R, and have a nice day!**

**~CabooseHeart.**


	3. Breathe, Soldier Part 2

**Bow Chicka Bow Wow**

**Title: Breathe, Soldier**

**Part 2: Assistance**

**Pairing: Locington (Locus/Agent Washington)**

**Warning(s): M/M Slash, Intense Sexual Intercourse, Desperation, Referenced Knife Play, Sexual Tension, Referenced Breath Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Power Kink, Abuse of Power, Mentioned Abuse, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Mentioned Character Death, Etc.**

**Description: There are things Washington has failed to tell Tucker and Caboose about, or even Sarge and Donut for that matter. Alot happened before they left the Feds... things Washington will never forget. In which nightmares are a constant for Wash, and Locus is terrifying, more terrifying than the nightmares. He swears it's nothing at first... but it keeps the monsters away. At least, the ones in his dreams...**

**A/N: I got nothing but the story ahead! Please R&R!  
><strong>

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><p>The sounds of the chilling rain flooded the Federal campsite, thick, icky swamp raindrops falling like angels with broken wings to the ground, loud symphonies of thunderclaps signaling their downfall and deaths. A young man with blonde, dirty hair squinted his greyblue eyes, the color matching closer to an American Earth storm rather than a Chorus one. The being watched as the dirt beneath his boots gave way to the mud, the dark sludge sticky and clumpy as it gathered grass blades of a bluer color than should be natural. Thunderclaps echoed through the night time air, making a long, painful shiver run up the young man's spine, his teeth tightening in fear of chattering, not wanting to look weak.

The being this man feared to look weak before stood tall and well-armored by his side, the dark grey and green making his camouflage virtually unneeded as he watched the downpour beside his unlucky companion. The younger man, Agent Washington, wanted to glare at the mercenary standing a head taller than him, but held back, enjoying the chilling silence as long as he possibly could. The Feds had kept him on the move for the last week or so, though he hardly noticed, too busy at his attempts to train the troops assigned to him. They were all fairly bright, but they lacked skill. They reminded Wash of himself during Project Freelancer, of even before then, back when he was a kid.

He'd been a good kid, honest to God he had, but dammit, there were decisions Washington wished he could erase even now. He remembered alot of things, some useless, some very much important. He remembered finding a stray tabby cat and bringing her home at seven years old, he remembered that same cat dying three years later. He remembered starting an argument with a mob boss at twelve, he also remembered regretting it seven seconds afterwards. There were, indeed, many things Washington remembered and had forgotten in turn, but the list of forgotten things was much shorter than the things he recalled. Wash sighed, a puff of greyish air escaping his mouth like cigarette smoke leaves a Poker player's lungs.

"Reminiscing, Agent Washington?" Locus asked all too suddenly, making Washington jump, if only slightly, enough for the huge mercenary to spot. "Something tells me I am correct."

"It's none of your business..." Washington insisted, coughing weakly into the humid air, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them. He hated humidity with a burning passion... a wonder how he survived fifteen years living in Seattle. "Why don't you go patrol? Pretty sure we'll be settling down for the night soon."

"I would only hope so... these battles have been lasting longer." Locus commented, looking upon the camp steadily, SAW loaded in his strong, armored arms, fingers twitching occasionally. Not that anyone noticed.

"I wouldn't know," Wash replied, somewhat bitterly, somewhat thankfully. Depended on what mood he was in when you asked. "I'm wondering when I'll be sent off to the field..."

"Not for a long time." Locus promised, helmet tilted towards Washington, studying his extremely freckled face with a glint of curiosity on his domed helmet. "You remind me of someone, Agent."

"Really now," It was painfully clear that Washington wasn't interested in what Locus was now talking about, his eyes trained on where a rookie was showing a few senior officers a knife trick. "That dumbass rookie, he's gonna chop his fucking fingers off doing that."

"You seem to be quite interested in knives, Washington," Locus decided aloud, and Wash could almost feel that mercenary's fucking smirk. He wondered why Locus would be happy about that. "Have you trained with them before?"

Instead of answering, Washington took off across the campsite, realizing that, yeah, the rookie was totally gonna chop his fingers off in a few seconds if he didn't intervene. Faster than the Flash, Wash was there, snatching the knife expertly from the rookie's fingers, twisting it and making a tiny show of tossing it and all together showing off the weapon. Finally, Washington grabbed it midair after tossing it, slamming it millimeters from the rookie's other hand on the wooden crate he'd been using as a table. The soldiers around them all stared, eyes wide as Wash gave the poor rookie a stern glare. The rookie was Private Eastwood, a poor kid around nineteen who'd been trying to impress the older recruits seconds ago.

Wash snatched up the knife again, holding it gently by the blade, the handle poised dangerously at Eastwood, condensation leaving big, fat, wet drops of swampy rain on the dark mahogany. "You be damn careful with this thing, kid," Washington ordered, grabbing Eastwood's hand and enclosing the handle in his open palm. "You're gonna cut your fingers off if you use it like that."

Locus watched as Wash walked away, the other soldiers surrounding Eastwood as soon as he was out of earshot, probably to either tease him or gossip about the crazy ex-Freelancer. The same one who'd been performing kick-flips on an old skateboard the day before. "You handled that well." Locus commented, following Wash as the Freelancer continued off from the scene he'd unintentionally made. "Maybe one of these days you'll show me how it's done, David."

Washington flinched so violently, if anyone but Locus had been watching, they would've called a medic to check him out for injuries. It took a few minutes for Wash to recover, but when he did, he looked more pale, irises big and worry filled. "How do you know my name?" His voice was dangerously steady, too steady to not be insane. "How do you know my name, Locus?" He repeated, more harsh, eyes squinting with the building of hot, magma-like anger. The volcano would erupt if Locus wasn't careful.

"I've known for some time, David," Locus explained, not afraid to trigger Wash by the looks of it. "Or was it Davy that your grandmother called you? I remember you... I remember you very well..." He walked away, removing his helmet enough to show his midnight dark skin, a sly smirk only for Wash. "I have a feeling I'll see you again tonight. Until then, good luck, David."

"_Wait_!" But Locus didn't look back, clicking back on his helmet, leaving Washington in the soggy rain, the droplets dribbling like spoonfuls of applesauce down the back of his armor.

The grey and yellow soldier stared, his hair now a soaping wet mess, clinging to his head as the downpour beat upon the ground with a new intensity, signaling for soldiers to get inside. And so they did. Washington stayed. He stayed there for a long time, allowing condensation to form and dribble away like youth over his armor, replanting into the ground to maybe bring new life, only for it to be later destroyed by a new battle or war. The Freelancer soon fisted his piano-finger built hands, storming off like the possible hurricane above his head, stomping back to where he'd stood with Locus minutes ago, before that rookie had caused him to step forward. He clicked his helmet back on.

_Locus knew his name..._

Washington walked away, his feet taking him away from the camp, towards where a waterfall was said to be. He could use a shower, he mused, something to cleanse the sick and anger away from his pale skin. Anything to make him stop thinking, stop _worrying_, stop fucking _remembering_.

_Locus knew his name..._

The Freelancer started stripping, removing his armor at record speeds, mind fishing for a connection, anyone Locus reminded him of from his past. He knew he had the answer. His pointless musing was now becoming an excuse to spite it, and maybe find another answer to replace the truth. Washington drowned his thoughts then in swamp water, ignoring the terrible feeling of slime and barely any water slipping over his now naked body. He drowned himself in the darkness as he closed his eyes, fingers scrubbing through the suicide blonde on his head, trying to scrub away too many lies and truths at once. It continued to rain even after Wash scrambled to shore, ducking under a tree to maybe dry off.

_Locus knew his name..._

* * *

><p>Not even three hours later, Locus woke up to the sound of teeth chattering. Smirking a bit, Locus flicked on his old fashioned oil lantern, spying the soaping wet bundle huddled at the corner of his tent. Poor Wash, he looked like a stray kitten who'd just crawled out of a river, his siblings not surviving the swim, or the other Freelancers in Washington's case. The mercenary sat up, beckoning Washington over, who, against his better judgement, immediately crawled under the blanket to press up against Locus's warm and pleasing form. Closing his eyes for just a moment, Wash buried his face in Locus's grey T-shirt. Suddenly realizing what was going on, Wash jumped back, but Locus's steady arms were already around him, keeping him nice and close to his chest.<p>

"Let me _go_!" Washington demanded, but he still seemed hesitant to leave the warmth of Locus's cot.

"I don't think I will," Locus mused, petting Wash's ruffled up blonde hair tenderly, the strings all damp and unbrushed. "Though, I do think you know exactly who I am... or who you at the very least think I am."

"_Rufus_," Wash mumbled, his voice muffled as he went back to resting heavily against Locus. "You left me that night, ya know."

"Your grandmother would have caught us, David," Locus explained, though he didn't sound very sorry. "Besides, I hardly even knew you back then... you hired me to take your virginity, and I did. It was supposed to end there."

"Then why didn't it?" Washington finally asked, the question being one he'd been fearing and contemplating over the last few hours. "Why didn't you just move on or forget about me, why didn't you just fuck some other guy?"

Locus suddenly had Wash pinned, making the blonde gulp, so many flashes of memories. Skin on skin, alot of sweating, alot of hushing on Rufus's end, alot of whining and bucking too. In response, Locus had their mouths meet, tongue pressing into the much younger man's mouth greedily as he took what he'd always seen as his. "My name was never Rufus," Locus mumbled out between a kiss, stealing another before returning to his chattering. "It was Luke... and then it was Locus."

"Which one are you right now?" Wash asked, also in-between a kiss, breathing becoming ragged as that boner from about a week ago decided to say, hey, the guy kissing you should know I fucking exist.

"I don't have a personality disorder, David," Locus announced, biting Wash's lip as punishment for the insult on his name. "I couldn't just run around as a prostitute with my real name, now could I? No, I only used Rufus for you... other lovers knew me by different names. Yet, somehow... I always went back to think of you, the shuddering virgin who didn't even know he needed lube."

"I was sixteen," Wash reminded the darker man, attempting to snap a nip at Locus's lips, only for Locus to pull back, making his not even half-hard cock weep. "I wasn't exactly an expert on sex ed."

"You will be when I'm finished with you." Locus assured him, sitting up as he started yanking Wash's clothes off, glad the younger had only come in an old T-shirt and some boxers that had to have been owned by one of the recruits.

Washington complied without complaint, making quick work of getting Locus's boxers and shirt off, until the two were completely naked before each other. Nothing had changed since he was sixteen, besides maybe a surplus of scars, alot more history, a neural network of a suicidal AI's remains in the back of his skull, too many scars to pinpoint and mention, a large vocabulary, and a bigger difference in height than before. The natural blonde felt a familiar smile creep onto his face, one he hadn't felt in a very long time, not since he'd last seen Tucker and the others. All of that washed away, however, as Locus suddenly handcuffed Wash's wrists to a part of the lousy bed-frame keeping the cot off the wet, dirty, mud-ridden ground.

"The fuck are you doing?" Wash rasped out, wheezing slightly in the darkness as the light started to fade, eyes glazed over with pleasure and lust fueling his veins and brain.

"Only what you want me to do," Locus told the younger man, his face unable to be seen from the angle the lantern was at, making Wash squint, yet secretly thank whatever God was out there from sparing him from direct eye-contact with the mercenary. He'd never liked eye-contact, nor bondage.

"I don't want this," Wash assured Locus, struggling until Locus finally undid the handcuffs, allowing the well-muscled blonde to sit up, pressing light butterfly kisses to his chest as he worked his way up, a devilish light in his stormy eyes. "I just... I want it simple, alright?"

"If that works." It was very clear that Locus had preferred the bondage route, but dammit all, if Washington wasn't going to accept that... well, fuck, he'd find a way sooner or later.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Washington woke up in a haze, squinting before he sat up, feeling sticky and gross before it all came back in a heated flash. Locus's hands on his hips, the loud smacking sound of Locus's member going in and out of his ass, the stings of hickeys on his neck, and the shivers of an unexpected and almost terrifying orgasm... he got up at once. Breathing hard, Washington began to get dressed, jerking as Locus suddenly clapped a hand onto his thigh, making him swallow hard and slow, feeling both comforted and intimidated by the mercenary's presence and touch. The blonde shivered, feeling Locus starting to sit up beside him, his tongue poking a prodding at his freckled skin, up his back and tracing over his exposed neck.<p>

"Leaving so soon?" Locus inquired, that smirk still in his voice, low and quiet and threatening, yet so overly soft that Wash wanted to melt. "I believe last night was a mere warmup."

"We have training," Wash reminded the mercenary, feeling his arousal starting to come to life, but knew damn well that he needed to smother it before he got caught with Locus or got up late. "And we could get caught..."

"We could have very well gotten caught last night, yet we were not. Besides... we have time." Locus promised, looking ready for Wash's okay, ready to pin the suicide blonde in a heartbeat. "Interested, David?"

"Later." Washington promised, standing up and forcing his boxers on, but not without a tiny hiss to add to it. "Fuck..."

"In need of my assistance again, Agent Washington?" Locus inquired, looking all too smug as Wash glared at him, a childish pout on his lover's surprisingly young face. He silently wondered how a man Washington's age looked so young, despite all he'd seen and been through.

"I'll be fine," Wash promised, coughing into a closed fist as he adjusted his boxers a bit better, knowing damn well that his boner still showed. He'd be the talk of the morning it looked like. "Can I... borrow some pants though?"

Locus nodded, going to a duffel-bag by his cot, tossing a pair of pants and a belt at the young man. "Hey, Locus?" Wash spoke up, after getting the very large sized pants on, rolling up the legs a bit and tugging the belt on real tight. "Can I ask you something?"

The mercenary peered up at Wash, brushing his own dreadlocks out of his eyes as he started clasping on his armor, not bothering to dress in anything else for training/patrol. "What do you need, David?"

"Can you... not tell anyone about... whatever we're doing?" Wash asked, well, more begged really, but the insistence was there either way. "I'd much rather keep whatever funny business we get into between each other, if you don't mind."

"But of course," Locus agreed, his helmet clicking right back on, that damned voice filter making him sound more alien and less human. "I also would prefer to keep this s well guarded secret."

"Perfect," Wash announced, nodding as he started to go for the tent-flap, now fully dressed, but squeaked as Locus suddenly squeezed his ass. "Hey!" He protested, jumping before rubbing at his violated area.

Locus only chuckled, leaving the ten before Washington, who gave the area one final look, smiling fondly as the memories from last night. Feeling something wet press against his belly, Wash sighed, limping unceremoniously away from the tent. He could only hope his subordinates wouldn't notice...

_FIN_

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry that I'm so vanilla with my slash writing, I'm still trying to get the hang of it! In the meantime, I'll work on getting more work done. Please R&R, I'd really appreciate it!**

**~CabooseHeart.**


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